Froglets
FROG, n. We have seen several frogs while out in nature this week, and my beloved is in “frog mode” (this means, according to him, caring exclusively about frogs), so clearly I had to look up “frog” in the dictionary.
One of several frogs we saw hanging out in this marsh.
“Frog” comes from Old English “frogga,” which is a form of “frosc, forsc, frox,” also meaning “frog.” I don’t know much about Old English, but the -gga suffix on “frogga” is “unusual and difficult to explain” according to the Oxford English Dictionary and “an obscure expressive suffix” according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, and according to both, it’s probably a diminutive. Think “froglet” or “little frog.” Lots of animal words end up with diminutives attached and then incorporated into the regular word; more on this in a moment.
It’s possible that “frosc,” etc. and other Germanic cognates for these small amphibians come from the Proto-Indo-European root *preu-, meaning “to hop,” but PIE sources are always speculative. I like it, though. It would mean that a long time ago, people looked at these animals and decided to call them “hoppers.”
Another classic option for naming animals is to make up a word that imitates their sound, which is what’s happening in Latin (and Spanish and Italian) “rana.” It’s like “ribbit.” French’s version of Latin “rana” is “raine,” but it’s old and only survives in certain regions. It’s not the usual French word for frog. (I did not know it existed until the Trésor de la langue française informed me just now, but it could be that I am just not devoting enough of my French-language conversations to the topic of frogs.) There is also French “rainette,” little frog—here we return to our little diminutives.
A lot of Latin speakers added a diminutive to “rana” to make “ranunculus,” little frog, which is also the name of a genus of flowers. The plants tend to grow near water, hence their association with frogs.
Through several phonological transformations, “ranunculus” eventually produces the usual French word for frog, “grenouille.” It probably acquires its initial g- from imitating a croaking sound.
(British English speakers calling French people “frogs” as an insult is a late 18th-century development and it’s a short form of “frog-eater.” The Online Etymology Dictionary also has “frogs” as a derogatory term for the Dutch in the 17th century because their country is marshy. It’s beginning to seem like Brits really don’t care for amphibians.)
This week in small-r romance, I read
A Duet for Invisible Strings (f/f, both cis and lesbian?, fantasy, novella) by Llinos Cathryn Thomas. This is a beautifully written contemporary novella with magical elements about two women who run an orchestra together—one is the conductor, the other the first violin. They’ve been pining for each other for years. Heledd, the violinist, has never said anything because she’s hiding a secret that she knows will keep them apart. There’s yearning and a lot of beautiful descriptions of music, and the whole thing feels rich and complete. I was inspired to read it by this post at Close Reading Romance. Content warnings: none.
Paladin’s Grace (m/f, both cis and het, fantasy) by T. Kingfisher. This was just as charming and action-packed and funny as Swordheart, which I wrote about last week, so much so that I am already reading the next one in the series and will probably read T. Kingfisher’s entire published backlist in short order. The female protagonist in this is a perfumer, and there are so many great details about scents, including an aside about how overused sandalwood is as a masculine scent, which is especially funny if you’re a frequent romance reader. The whole book is like that aside, both embracing and winking at its genres of fantasy and romance, and it’s a delight. Content warnings: past abuse, depression/PTSD, murder, violence, gore, sex.
To return to my household’s new term “frog mode,” above, computational linguist Kathryn Hymes wrote a wonderful article in The Atlantic about “familects,” or invented terms, nicknames, and inside jokes that people use with their families.
We have many, many of these in our household and extended families—for instance, my family groupchat is called “the PMU,” short for “potato measuring unit,” because years ago my mom once described a marmot as “about the size of two potatoes”—and I love hearing other people’s.
